


He's Got You High (and you don't even know yet)

by shipwrecks



Series: Amoral Backbones [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, i am probably never going to finish this, satan's pet kittens this pairing is, so here's a big dump of everything i had written but never posted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwrecks/pseuds/shipwrecks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We meet again," he says when he reaches the tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's Got You High (and you don't even know yet)

**Author's Note:**

> so, like i said in the tags, i will likely never finish this series because 1. i am incapable of finishing anything, 2. university is sucking my will to live so i'm writing pretty much no fic in any fandom, and 3. if i am, it's one direction, because it's always one direction. fuck those dudes. anyway, here's some parnasse/jehan with some terrible fade-to-black shit that i hate, but them's the brakes.

Parnasse runs into him not too long after the gallery party. He's surprised to see him; he wasn't actually sure he was old enough to go to university. (A thought that made him feel like he should feel guilty, even though he's not.)

He sees him as he's absentmindedly wandering around campus; he's got a huge break between classes and is internally debating whether or not just to blow off the one in three hours. The scales are greatly tipping towards 'fuck it.' Jehan (he says in his head because they are friends) is buried in a notebook, resting against a tree, and are those flowers in his hair? He's again wrapped up in many layers, though today is warmer than it was at the gallery, but he's still sitting outside. His clothes prove once more to be his own closet's nemesis. Parnasse looks down at his outfit du jour: black ankle boots, black jeans, leather jacket over a dark button-up with flowers on it (and that may have been a recent purchase, but, fuck you, Parnasse thinks). He strides over to where he's at, taking care to make sure he doesn't notice him, but he's so immersed in whatever's he's writing, Parnasse thinks he could have been yelling at him as he walked and would have gotten no response.

"We meet again," he says when he reaches the tree.

Jehan peers up and out of his notebook, and sees a tall, lanky shadow, sun streaming behind it, washing him out.

But he knows who it is by voice, a casual purr, like everything can be seduced, but he's not even trying. If Jehan ever really got angry, he'd be mad this guy had ever happened to his life.

"Oh. Hi," he replies, trying for aloof or indifference, but he thinks it sounds nervous at best.

Montparnasse grins at him, like he's wise to his game (and he probably is), and his teeth are pearly white and predatory, but one to the left is slightly crooked. Jehan is already composing a short little poem in his head about it.

"So, is this where to find the elusive Jehan, enjoying nature, or as much as he can with his nose so deep in a notebook?"

Jehan blushes. "Yes. I guess. I'm, um, doing something for a class."

Parnasse should have known he'd be the type to enjoy his schoolwork. He smirks. Then knows he's not going to class today. That much studying between the two of them is not good for the universe.

"Well, I'm off. Get out of the notebook if you can, Jehan."

He turns on his heel to go, but hears, "Um, Montparnasse—"

He doesn't know how he said it, just wants to try and ask him if—

"Parnasse. Don't worry, cat, we'll see each other again."

Then he's gone so fast, Jehan isn't sure whether to chalk it up to his bad eyes or sheer magic.

-

Joints have never gotten him particularly high, but he's kind of afraid of killing Jehan with anything else. He's doesn't want something else on his conscious (if it turns out he has one). He's already corrupting him.

So he rolls one, deft and quickly because he's ridiculously practiced. Jehan doesn't even have time to ask what everything is, which he would, unabashedly, completely unconcerned with looking cool and like he's done this before.

He lights it, tries to explain what to do, but Jehan just says, "I've smoked a cigarette before," annoyed, and he chuckles. He holds the joint like a cigarette with his delicate fingers. It's stupidly endearing.

Parnasse takes a bigger drag and motions 'come here' to Jehan, which he obliges curiously. He tries to explain 'open your mouth' without words, which doesn't translate as well so he just goes for it. Leans in, giving him an open-mouthed kiss and exhaling. It does not work and Jehan has a coughing fit.

"What," he sputters, "are you trying to do to me?"

"Well, I was trying to get you high the fun way. Let's try again. Next time, open your mouth."

Jehan nods seriously and gets this concentrated look on his face as he waits. Parnasse smiles around the joint.

He leans in again; Jehan is fixed on his mouth until he closes his eyes. So does Parnasse.

He catches his mouth right this time, breathes the smoke out, can vaguely feel Jehan's throat tighten to inhale.

He segues it into a kiss because he can't help it. Jehan grips his knees. He hopes he remembers to breathe through his nose.

"What. What was that?" he says dreamily as Parnasse kisses along his jaw.

"We just shotgunned," he replies in his ear.

"I like that," he decides.

_Yes,_ Parnasse thinks, _so do I._

He kisses a collarbone, nips at it because, like before, he can't help it. Jehan is innocent, stark and unmarked, and he wants to stake his claim, leave that mark until he is the color of Montparnasse.

And Jehan is breathing heavy in agreement, like putty in Parnasse's hands, like he wants to be bruised and claimed. And Jehan; well, he never thought he would (like being marked), but he does, really does. Perhaps only because it's Parnasse; because despite his deep want to positively _ruin_ Jehan, he doesn't. He marks lightly, almost tentatively, because he knows Jehan, knows him well enough anyway, that he won't come on too strong. Won't do anything he's not ready to do.

Jehan, much to Parnasse's surprise, plucks the joint out of his hands as he's working his way down his neck. He finds he is too busy playing connect the dots of freckles with his tongue to care too much. But Jehan tilts his chin up to him, looks him in the eye, and Parnasse can tell he's got a mouth full of smoke. This time, he closes his eyes first and they both now lean in.

He, Parnasse, has never actually been on the receiving end; had never had anyone just go for it and switch up the roles. He likes it a bit.


End file.
